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Author Topic: My Story Life goes on.

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My Story Re: Life goes on.
#10: November 25, 2020, 04:52:44 AM
3longyrs, (((HUGS))) and thank you. Yesterday was ok. It was finally quiet, and ok.

I had a videoconference call with the ladies on Monday night and it was my turn to present. Getting to the roots of some of what I’ve experienced in life from the start. That was a rough presentation and I even know all this stuff like the back of my own hand. When I finished, one of the ladies shared that she always knows when I do speak, it’s time to get quiet and listen, “because when terra speaks, you always know there will be wisdom dropped.”

That was so nice and so unexpected and kind, that my hand flew to my heart and I just finally smiled and couldn’t stop. She’s younger than I am and maybe that surprised me too, that a younger person felt that way about me, my words, my life. The things I know, new or all too well. It was such a soft and caring reception, from all of them, really, that I just wondered how I could ever have ended up with men or husbands or so many family constellations that were so icy and jagged and hard and didn’t care at all, or who would savage me for being who and how and what I am.

One lady said that from the whole recounting, it stood out to her that the only key people who had not been total and utter pigs in my life had been my D, my brother, and a pair of Holocaust survivors who had taken me in when I first left home.

That was notable too, first that she noticed it, and secondly because it was actually kind of true. The other night, when I said all I said, the rest of the people I had spoken of had indeed been really terrible. I wondered at that also. How on earth could it be that so many others had been so bad to be around?

When I got off the call, my phone full of stony cold formal messages from h 2500 miles away, I went into my room and into my bed and passed out from the effort of having put so much pain into words and said it and survived it all again.

I woke up in the dark and yesterday alone in the house I looked up something about h’s current employer, saw immediately that he is a bit lying to me or leveraging something really obvious there to make trouble in my mind. And then I just set about overriding his influence and doing my day my own way.

The ladies checked in on me and that surprised me too. I have no idea how people are initiators of simple kindness or graciousness anymore; the years of h away with ow have worn me pretty thin and the circumstances of this C19 year have all been pretty hard. I rallied a few equally kind and grateful responses and was/am really glad for this group of women who are caring and demonstrative about it.

D came home for a few minutes to hand off cash from her dad and just to see if our favorites’ current album had arrived yet in the mail. It hasn’t but it will soon; it is coming from another country and we never know when their gifts will show up until the moment they do.

I spent most of yesterday silent in my own focused work, doing something I might have done for someone else for money but instead for myself, because it was high time I did some organizational productive task that I actually like.

That was good.

By the end of the day, my ears were ringing. Only on one side, loud, and it went on for hours. I went to bed to silence it, and saw that for once, there had not been one single message called or sent by h.

This morning I woke up FAR too early and there still is nothing from him, so, I managed at least one 24-hour period in which I wasn’t hassled by him.

That’s good too.

I had meant to call LE yesterday to get guidance on something he’s said. Instead I didn’t and I just had a nice day of my own, alone in the house, doing something productive that I liked. He would think it was stupid, or that I was, and honestly, he did call me that on Monday. “Very, very stupid.”

I did answer back the once, at that, just to tell him that all things considered, I thought it was all very, very stupid too.

And by that I mean you, h. But I don’t feel the need or compulsion to say that to you out loud.

I also told him that he probably needs to rest. And to stop talking or texting about anything and just do it.

Not resignation or dismay on my part, but just ...acknowledgment of inefficiency, ineffectiveness on his. Boredom. Not even anger. Just, so much time wasted.

I didn’t waste the time yesterday, on anything. I spent it doing what I liked, deliberately, and found I really liked that. It felt better. Except for the mad ringing in my head at the end of the day, which may have been some aspect of whatever physical illness or maybe h yelling at or about me from across thousands of miles, *I* felt better.

Why would I ever be receptive to anyone who deliberately wasted any time yelling at me? Or about me, to people I don’t even know?

I can’t make excuses for that anymore, in him or anyone else. That time in my life is just *over*.

When people hear more of even my recent backstory, they often start off with how strong I am, and how kind. This morning I think it is still pretty unclear what the strength is even for, but I know it doesn’t make much sense to have a spirit of kindness if it is only outward given. So it was just really lovely, yesterday, affirming, to be able to give it all firmly and continuously to myself. Alone in the house and just doing a quiet productive task that could be an ordinary paid task but is one that I actually like.

I’ll continue today also. Because I can.


I dreamt yesterday of a guy I knew in college. I wasn’t thrilled to see him in the dream, but it was alright. I did notice, though, where I was of a different caliber of thinking and perceiving. And where he, like h, had got stuck on some trauma event and wasn’t able to see or function beyond it.

For once, it didn’t feel like my job to align or attend.

I was kind enough and glad enough but while he went on and on, I also watched for my way out.

Something alike h, in that figure, but whatever it was, it resulted in me taking yesterday all for myself and my own quiet thoughtful enjoyment.


This morning I dreamt significantly but woke too early and shifted the vibe to today. D will be home today. The money her dad put here yesterday was in part so that I would have it to do the run up north for a special restaurant pick-up, which we do annually when I am not interested in cooking all that myself. This morning in the dark it took me a while to remember that today is THAT day; *today* is when we make that drive. And I wonder where all the past year has gone, and how did we get to this day again that soon, and has a whole year really passed already, and I notice this means part of the cash that arrived yesterday has to be put in the gas tank of my car.

Is that why her dad asked on Monday if my car was driving ok, and did I need any services for it this week. When he asked, I was standing barefoot in the driveway and it and my car were buried under mounds of golden leaves, and bird droppings, and I just laughed, because sure it is, the car is ok. I don’t think it needs anything, and you can see, it’s no princess.

I forgot I had to drive it out of area this week. I totally forgot that was this week.

Chronic hassling from h, on top of FIL’s death which is *final, absolutely final*, on top of wildfires that started in July and went everywhere in the family *except* where h lives in the middle of the sea — my mind is just like a snow globe except maybe full of ashes and glass shards instead of the typical fluffy sparkling soft snow.

It rarely rests; like h, I know I need to rest, too.

Sometimes when the ashes and shards settle down a bit, I can see parts of myself in the pieces that are mirror, and the ashes are soft and warm.

And h would hate the poetics, but that’s how I do. That’s how I live. And I understand if he doesn’t or can’t or won’t, he’s missing more than 95% of the point and benefit and healing opportunities of the place where he is living.

I love the place but I would hate to be there right now, this year and under all the circumstances. Sure, you live across the road from a beautiful beach and warm sea. But not anywhere near us. So is it really all that great?

I don’t have much. But I am so very happy, with my lot. I’m grateful. And I love, and, I’m at rest.


The guy from college: we knew each other as adults, both of us returning to school as older students. It turned out that we had good friends in common from way back, which was kind of weird as that intersection had been in a completely different state and decade. We liked each other immediately, and it was easy to understand all the reasons why.

Sometime early in our first term, I happened across one of his bad moods. When I drew it out of him, it was about a parent death. He thought he was the only person who had been through that. Hostile, defensive, upset — at me but really at everyone he had known since the day it happened, decades before.

When I gently told him no, that happened to me also, I know very well what that is to live with, he was stunned silent and looked at me like I wasn’t even human or earthly at all.

It didn’t mean he was any nicer to me, eventually. More like the part where I’d been through it too, and for as many years, meant that I would understand why he was cold or belligerent or sharp. To anyone but especially to me.

Something similar to h, then, in the dream or in general.

I looked around for the small gift I’d stashed months ago for D’s birthday. I don’t think it is enough, but maybe the time we spend this week just being safe and good to each other will be.
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Re: Life goes on.
#11: November 25, 2020, 06:48:53 AM
I’ve been up for four hours and in another ...four? five? will pick D up from her dad’s and go do the northbound restaurant drive.

I am laughing my head off because I am tired and I *just* got the rubbish out to the bins and up to the curb, literally just as the truck rolled up in the dark.

That is the first time in ages, or ever, that I have met the task and the other people involved in it right at the same time.

That was actually really, brilliantly, a really nice moment. The sun isn’t up, but we all were, right there on the open street while so much was still and silent.

And now the rubbish is gone and the bins can be put back to the driveway, and I’m glad that stuff is out of here.
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Re: Life goes on.
#12: November 25, 2020, 11:13:34 PM
Picked up D and set to the restaurant up north. What previously has been about an hour-long one way took 2.5 hours today, in that direction. I have no idea why. But with excellent company and excellent music, it was an absolute joy.

I don’t think we’ve driven more than about 15 miles away from home, at most, since quarantine measures began eight months ago. Mostly we stay within about a four-mile radius from here. GOSH it was good to get out and see more space.

And such beautiful space. We live near woodlands and open spaces, above the rest of the local community, just shy of where the commerce begins. It’s pretty up here and the foxes and deer and wild turkeys like it too, and we like living among them and near other quiet neighbors. I took the scenic route up, and it was open road until it wasn’t.

We sat in stopped traffic outside a beautiful city for a long, long time, and just admired architecture and the afternoon sunlight gleaming off the highest buildings. Talked about family holidays of old, talked about the families of friends. Sang along with beloved songs.

We saw open spaces. We saw landmarks and cities, and billboards advertising things we don’t think about or know about, things we don’t want or need, things we didn’t even know existed. We saw vivid exquisite graffiti and street art declaring with a vibrant roar powerful messages that deserved to be seen and understood every day, by everyone alive and by all those yet to come. We sighed at the idea of going to museums again.

We saw water. So much water. Water in lakes, in salt marshes, in the sea. Such beautiful water, all of it.

And then when D picked up my phone and navigated us into a neighborhood I used to know like the back of my hand, and once we were in it, it was like a whole heart had opened wide.


And they are just houses. But she was right: they all are SO BEAUTIFUL.

We parked and I locked up the car and she stayed in it listening to music while I went and placed the order. This child is so at ease in my old city. I was up at 3am this morning, so I was more subdued than I expected to be.

At the restaurant I didn’t make any small talk. I listened to the sweet sounds of a family enjoying their spread at an outdoor table. A man in the socially distant line wore his mask over a hooded jacket emblazoned with a bold glyph that I recognized. The symbol of a local music collective from years ago. I laughed silently behind my own mask: I have several songs by that artist collective on my phone. I listen to them often.

The architecture of the place — four buildings from four eras, side by side and perfectly in harmony. I studied all that and marveled at the details right in front of me. Just vibrant and amazing.

When I brought the goods back to the car, it was like Christmas morning. We probably have done this same run for Christmas too; I don’t remember very well now. D yelped to receive just the house drinks in their plastic cups. We laughed at the one we had never tried; she felt it was both too sweet and too basic. I think it is just regional to the cuisine; to me it seemed like that elsewhere and also very “old school”.

That is the joy of there, that city. As much new influx and thinking and dynamism happen there, they preserve the good of history too. D fell in love with it all, the parts that we saw. I drove through my old neighborhood before heading home; I needed to see my old homes first.

I didn’t say or even feel the same things this time. But along one of the streets, I pointed to a stately old house and said that every morning and night I walked there and loved that house, their windows had been full of a collection of beautiful old blue glass bottles.

“They still are,” she said; “They’re still there.” And I almost cried with joy.

That’s been some 30 years ago. Those neighbors are still there, or someone who loved them is. And the beautiful old glass bottles are still there too.

I find that just amazing, a gorgeous unexpected comfort. I don’t think I would even *dream* that something like that would continue to exist.

I drove us a few blocks more, just across the main thoroughfare and up the hill a jot, saying the directions out loud so that her body would remember, and then I slowed and parked and just got out of the car in my bare feet and skirts and went directly up the stairs of the most beautiful place I have ever lived.
My front door just the same. A stunningly carved dark thing, tall and mysterious, with an ornate metal handle.

I stood there for a long time and felt how much Home that still felt, in all my being. I took the photos and immediately they were exactly perfect. I looked over my old sun deck and let my vision skip the French doors, because my being felt those too — the bedroom just inside them, private. So I took the stairs instead, going further up into the place,

And it was surreal, because I have dreamt those steps beneath my bare feet and the curving of the architecture and entrances and hallways over and over again for all the years since I moved away from there.

That place has my heart.

D came up quietly behind me and it may have been the first time she has explored that old building with me. And it clearly had her heart too. I lived there such a long time before she was ever born, before I ever knew her dad, before I ever met h.

That place is all me, just me. That was such a miraculous place.

It wasn’t exactly intentional, that side jaunt. She and I both quietly took several photos of what we saw. She made her way carefully back down the narrow small stairs and went back to the car. I took photos as I descended and I think I will have a few of them enlarged and printed on canvas. I lingered on the last steps and just marveled at the pour of them, the way it all seemed flowing and natural, like it wasn’t made by humankind at all.

I am glad I went to it all barefooted, as I can still feel the cold of the old concrete steps. The fulsome, almost living warmth of the old polished wood in the halls. And the shapes of cobblestones that are still the same, in the passages between the buildings.

I prayed gratitudes as I walked alone along the old passages, seeing the old houses where good neighbors had lived and maybe still did. The old details still evident and refreshed and yet so unchanged. The way the evening light made it all glow.

When I neared the car again, taking pictures all the way, I prayed thanks for even the moments we’d just had to revisit this place and also the provisions of the time in which I lived there. And a pair of hummingbirds thrummed above me in the dusk and hovered near, and that was a perfectly beautiful answer.

I dream of there because it is the kind of place that both has always existed and should always exist.

That was a really good Home. Gosh I loved that home.


When we reached the road back to this one, the light and the scenery and view were just what I’d seen from my living room at a different home there, and I was *floored*.

That “there”, all of it, had been such a joy to me then, all those years ago. And this time, D was enthralled and somehow it’s that way to her too, different and new and yet very familiar.

WE SEE A NEW POSSIBILITY. We both see it. It isn’t just me.

Our drive home was no less amazing. It all took longer than expected, but when we got home to this house, I photographed our little home and the moon and stars that accompanied us all the way. At the lower left corner of the dark photo, there is light from an old-fashioned lantern I set out months ago on the pavement and forgot to pick up again or move.

The moon looks like a star sapphire. The house windows are warmly lit against the dark blue of early night.

And the light cast by the old lantern is somehow shaped like a glowing golden heart.
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« Last Edit: November 25, 2020, 11:22:33 PM by terra »

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Re: Life goes on.
#13: November 26, 2020, 08:10:25 AM
A simplistic update, journaling.

Beignets are still good the next morning, if you keep them in the oven overnight. Or, good ones are.

I woke up after the sun this morning and I’m thankful for that.

The property I love is still owned by the same landowner and his wife. When I met them years ago, they seemed like timeless people, a timeless couple that could have come from anywhere in the world and any time in history. They were old then. Not old old like my grandparents but a strange and beautiful different kind of old. His hair was dark and hers very flaxen, neither of them unnatural, and their lined faces appeared to be just mysteriously happy. He was the more extroverted one but also tethered to her quiet spirit in a way of cherishing that just was more of the same, timeless and happy and enduring.

I don’t think I was impolite enough even 30 years ago to ask their ages. I rented from them for years. At some point I think one of the other tenants told me the landlord was 80. That was astonishing and added to my joy there.

I found out they are still living and in fact are just up the way from D and me, on a parcel in another town that we pass through a lot on special occasions anytime of year and love. Both are still living, and he is 90.

That means they were late 50s or 60 when I knew them. So whatever MLC is, or menopause or andropause or midlife, they had already passed through those passages very successfully. Because they were beyond those years and they were together and so gentle and happy, and it really showed.

I now have a folder on my phone with all the notes I’ve collected over the years of dreaming of there. That was such a good place to go to and be at, yesterday. The front door with its remarkable carving, the old light fixture where I used to light the entry with an orange bulb. The ornate old handle set low, as if every time we came home, we let ourselves into a deep and joyful secret.

I entertained in that place a lot, only one or two other people at a time, because it was so small and so very special. The fireplace and hearth of hand-laid bricks that were probably hand cast as well, nearly 100 years before, and often lit or still warm.

Last night I studied other places near us. Wildfires have made some of them more affordable again, not that I have any income or savings to do anything with. I learned about HOA fees; no wonder the low selling prices. How could anyone afford those fees every month all the years. The only place I would ever pay those for is the one with the lovely front door.

There is nothing like that place. I remembered the year I left it and how determined I was to live there again someday. Through three decades I’ve lived in it in my dreams and walked the halls and cobbled passages the way I did last night, barefooted and in long skirts, touching the living and painted and hewn details with my eyes and heart. It’s always good to be there; it always was. That place will exist in me forever.

So that’s the new goal. Get the job and the money again, someday, and get in there. For just me and D, for any length of time. And in the meantime send gratitudes to the landowners who are still living and now just up the way. Just because.

That’s a good goal and I’m thankful; I feel like I haven’t had a strong goal in a very long time.

I see on Thanksgiving morning that h would not fit there or see the point of it. I don’t know what his influences or values are anymore, but in retrospect I see he was always about bigger and the kind of status show that was very obvious. The property D and I visited last night speaks for itself in a lovely and understated way, and although it stands out, it does so the way we both do. It isn’t loud; it’s very peacefully quiet. I went up in bare feet and D came up in pure silence, the way anyone might approach a church altar or a grazing forest creature. The neighbors are still studious and mindful and that’s just how you are in a place like that.

My whole heart was there when I lived there; my whole heart was there last night as I watched D take well composed photos of what she saw and wanted to always remember and maybe to dream and someday live in.

That place had nothing to do with h, although it’s funny: the years I lived there, he lived only minutes away. I just didn’t know it then.


The astros have been saying for a while that next month there will be sudden significant surprise, just before Christmas. I find the revisiting of Home, and the resuscitation of that long ago goal of returning there and being there as my own Self, take away any concern I previously had about h or things like surprises.

I’m not crazy about surprises. Given my history, I understand that’s natural for me. I like things to be steady and reliable and to stand the tests of time. That place does, and I do.

So we keep going, and I’m thankful.
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« Last Edit: November 26, 2020, 08:14:06 AM by terra »

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Re: Life goes on.
#14: November 27, 2020, 08:15:50 PM
I woke this morning from a dream in which it felt some major energy had cleared. Like stepping backward out of the funhouse mirror, all the way out. H had been front and forward in the dream, all business and very detailed, as if it was all technicalities and fine print. For me, even in the dream, it was just energy clearing; for my part, something like rimming the front door and perimeter of the house with salt, or closing and locking the gates. Practicalities; a kind of hoodoo water or practical magic, from my side of it all.

I woke unalarmed and just went about the morning with awareness that it was different now. I don’t know how or why, just that it is. I am. D and I know a plan and a place that follows after this one, where we will like to go when we leave this one. That’s for the first time in at least four years, and this time, no one else is troubling over it. It’s our choice. It’s hers and it’s also my own.

I’m happy that she is dynamic and deliberate about it. We came home from there the other night and facts are falling into place and they all make good and real sense. And no one is arguing about it and no one gets to. It’s her choice and also mine. A good and happy choice, and I am so surprised it wasn’t clear before this.

In the dream, I didn’t quite recognize h. Which is fine, because the last few years have really changed him a lot. I think I knew I was dreaming; I didn’t bother to look at him closely, because, why? He isn’t sticking around. Not even for a touch and go. This was all business and I don’t vibe with business, especially not his. Because there often seemed a scummy element to how he wanted to do those things, and that isn’t me.

So I listened instead, and it may have made sense to him, but it didn’t make any difference to me. Like any other dream, I was just there because that’s where my sleeping brain deposited me just then. Let him say what he has to say; you’ll wake up soon enough anyway, and it will have been just a dream. Then you go on with your day.

I listened, nodded at appropriate moments even when I didn’t care or agree, and then woke up.

Something major cleared on his side of it all, that part I did understand. But when I woke, something had cleared in me too: I no longer care about any of this.

I spent the morning and in fact much of the day just putting random things back where they belonged. It’s winter and the wildfires aren’t coming back again for a while. We aren’t moving or evacuating or going anywhere far or for long. Just put things back where they were supposed to be all along.

It’s funny, what we find when the house has been shaken up over and over again. It felt good to hang the springtime clothes back on hangers and into the closet. They’re out of season now and a little too vibrant for a pandemic year, but it won’t always be winter or coronavirus times. There will be plenty of good days or weeks or seasons to wear these colors again. Just put things back where they should have been all along.

I find I am selecting only what will fit in a new/old smaller property, one we move to a few years from now, a pre-selected address and set of rooms. I remember what those spaces are and what belonged in them; those spaces influenced me even as they just deepened some of the ways I already was. I know how the furniture is to be placed; I still have one or two of the pieces that fit there, in places like those.

I remember who I was and who I am.

I am not a person who will tolerate iciness or sharp tones from even a person who loved me, who I loved, or who I had intimacy with. That tolerance isn’t the least bit necessary.


He gave me the whole holiday off, apparently, but returned to hassling me this morning. I did bother to answer, and wrote a concise calm truth dart, non-accusing. This is something that would have “worked” in the past, paving the way or just standing my own ground. This morning instead it was just acknowledgement of the facts of today, his and my own, and although he bristled and retorted with stuffy “we” statements — and who knows if he meant he and ow, he and the others supposedly involved in supposed business, or he and a small army of split personality aspecrs? — I had already said the only thing I felt necessary.

It was enough to shut him up for the rest of the day. Rather than say it “worked” or paved the way, I think it was just a truth he couldn’t talk his way around or out of or deflect at all.

I spent the rest of the day putting my own small things in order and with D, and it was really beautiful.


I don’t like that h is with ow and others during this grief period? But I also see where if it was the two of us, or us and the kids, he would be just like this, with me. Hard and cold, armored, icy. And I don’t like that; I don’t grieve that way and I don’t want it around myself or either of the kids. I looked up “anger grief” for kicks and I saw that’s a thing.

It can be a thing there, he can do it with the only other person who reaps the benefits of his choices. She can reap the rest of it as well. He’s shelled out enough money; whatever he is now, let it flow into her life and hours. It doesn’t get to flow into mine now, anymore.

And they can lock it in. As long as it doesn’t come here, into my life and D’s, I’m glad. There’s a lot else on our plates here, and a lot of it is actually good. A future that makes sense and feels like coming home to the right place.

I no longer feel here is the right place for him. He is sort of menacing about coming back to it, and all I can say is that it’s finally not a big deal if he ever does. He is saying court actions. I am saying please do what will make you feel better.

It makes me laugh a bit, because I honestly finally don’t care a fig about any part of it.

I’m excited about finding work again, even the hunting part. Glad that I have skills that are long proven and quantifiable and that in the right position will turn into wealth increase again.

I can do this on my own.

I’ve done this before, even under his haughty nose, and I already know I am good at it.


His imperious “We” just reminds me of how he used to talk about himself and the dog.


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Life goes on.
#15: November 27, 2020, 08:32:13 PM
Terra -
It seems that the dream had a deep,  profound impact upon you, and that's a good thing.
I think it's lovely that you and D have a place that you look forward to moving to, in the future.
Your detachment is good right now - just hold onto it.
You're at peace..
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Re: Life goes on.
#16: November 29, 2020, 07:37:18 AM
Sea, (((HUGS))), and thank you. I had a look at some basic Gottman materials last night and was reminded that if we look at the ratio between positive bids and negative events, really in my case with h, it has been strongly and daily very negative almost all month. He flew back to ow and it has been something cold and hard every day, multiple times a day, whether I’ve responded or not. He has been so icy and just *wrong* that really we are looking at 100% concertedly very negative since around the 10th. So there’s not much to do or say or want or wish for, anymore.

Acceptance is just the only thing left, and paperwork, I guess.

The dreams actually help clarify that, and so do your comments here (everyone’s). So thank you.


To be super crazy honest, the C19 news is bugging me a lot. D’s dad isn’t able to help with rent now and I’m not in a space to hightail for any aid elsewhere. He thinks I should just pick up seasonal retail or administrative work, the low paid kind, and no judgment here about that; I’ve been able and willing in other years to do whatever is necessary to keep food on the table and etc.

This year is so different and the prospect of a customer-facing employment is honestly almost terrifying. I have one life, one body, one child, and I need to live for this young person. The stories on my various timelines of whatever persons quarantining for months on end and following all the guidelines only to test positive for C19 anyway are really darkening my perception and narrowing my willingness to go out into the world to make money. Any money.

D is excited about working this summer or after C19 recedes or is properly vaccinated more than it isn’t. We discussed it the other night on the way to her dad’s, at a traffic light, and it only took the length of the light for her to consider my employment potentials and to tell me just NO. D doesn’t want me out there among people, even here where 99.9% of the community is approaching C19 with care, with masks and proper distance.

We live in a county that has been careful from the start, careful for all the reasons. And our rates are still bad, even if the community overall has been good about it.

Part of what scares me so much is just that: our community was and remains responsive. And still is very notably beleaguered by this virus.

I’m not even watching local or national news, really. It’s just THERE, and the numbers don’t drop. That scares me.

When I do watch any sort of blanket national news or updates, the numbers are no better. They don’t call out our county or even state, but they keep saying it’s going to be a devastating winter. So, even if I modify the language before it settles into me, that scares me too. I am just scared.

This isn’t my first hard winter, but it’s the first one in which extreme financial hardship is accompanied by something airborne that might easily make me or anyone very sick and could even possibly kill me.

I’ve lived under a lot of different kinds of physical threats, but never this one.

So, I’m scared.


This morning it’s fair to disclose that I do wake up every morning and just still cry about matters with h.

The thing is, this also is not the first time someone has been extremely bad to me after the death of someone I dearly loved. My mother does it just about every time, which is why I don’t speak to her anymore.

I texted my brother last night for a bit. It felt awkward. When he asked how it was going with h, and after I told him, his only response was the one I feel most of the time: “WTF”.

I realized suddenly, I no longer long for or even think of what it was like to receive a simple warm hug from h, or anyone. That was sort of a relief. I am not stuck in the upset of touchlessness anymore.

The daily harassment from h has now been enough that I don’t long for him in any way. All that’s left is the grief, the awareness that this isn’t the first time someone has been this concertedly and deliberately bad to me, and the awareness too that I don’t care why they do it or what the angle is or how a person could be this split or this “off” or this unkind.

This morning I thought very briefly about sending him that message:

You win. You’re good. You and your “We” have succeeded there. I no longer want even just to see you, anymore.

I don’t.

The thought or impulse passed very quickly. I cried, but, I also just got up and responded to small sales communications. A trade resulted in something that, I noticed, is actually a small Christmas-y token. It does feel like Christmas soon. It’s different, and not as contestable as the national holiday that just passed. And it will be small, here, like the trade, but that will be ok.

I am still waiting on supplies for a creation I will be glad to make and sell. In putting things back where they always belonged, I haven’t found my notes for the little black canvases.

I know I will. I also know that every day, my own sense of “home state” is only my own, not my mother’s or h’s or the one he makes with his recently reiterated “We”.

Theirs doesn’t matter.

Mine, too, almost doesn’t matter. It isn’t something I will ever share with him, I now understand. The two places or senses are as different as magma and ice. I don’t want his, and I don’t want him to trouble mine.

I’m thankful for the communities that will have me, and that do, and that are much more kind.
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Re: Life goes on.
#17: November 30, 2020, 12:03:39 PM
He keeps beating on me verbally with this weird cold legalese, and finally, after making two key calls, I answered it last night. I told him I understand now, that there are those you pay $$$K to keep near you night and day, and then there are those you batter at daily for weeks straight, over something you feel is worth only $$$.

Then I put two clean pinpricks in his ballooning threat, and said I would be happy to sue back. The fact is that I’ve spent over and above $$K in therapy and coping mechanisms since before BD. It isn’t difficult to provide the truth, there.

He didn’t answer and anyway, I went to bed.

When I woke too early again, I ventured an email to him and said what needed to be said. I didn’t say the part that felt most true: that he has become an altogether sharply different person, even in just these past few weeks. I did tell him that alone here, I haven’t got much recourse except to tell others, including my local LE. And that no one likes what he is suffering, but that likewise, no one likes that he is taking it out on me. I told him that he has to find a different way to cope.

I don’t mind saying here that the person I loved is fully gone, and that the person who has taken his place now is very much adamantly letting me know it.

This morning I had a number of other legal things that had to be done, things to sign and copy, papers to be moved. Nothing to do with him. I dressed and went to the tasks and ended up sitting in my car in a parking lot for a long time, like it was my own living room. I couldn’t tell you why; I was just ...comfortable and just sitting there like it was home and there wasn’t any rush or anything in particular to be done.

I did get that part of those tasks done. On the way home I stopped for a few dollars of gas and asked the clerk if they were doing ok during this pandemic; I saw that the storefront had been considerably modified. He said they were ok; the modifications were because of too many break-ins.

I was floored. More than one?

Several. They had several.

This shop is along the corridor of good neighborhoods, places where you wouldn’t expect crime. C19 has been a different way of everything, I guess. I drove home not feeling anything.

In the house with the paperwork that has nothing to do with him, I just put a pot on the stove to make a beef broth. I updated a spreadsheet. I pulled project supplies from where they’ve been stashed, to sit on the bed for an hour or so before I get my wits together to put them in what is now the key place for all the projects and all the supplies.

I received a text from a far-off area code inviting me to participate in an ongoing customer service something. I didn’t see that as valid, but finally, I noticed, I no longer see those anomalous texts as coming from h, just him playing games along the side of us, or along the side of them. His imperious We.

I looked at career opportunities at one of the places I used to shop at before C19. Even though D said no, the other night, I think I will apply for their 4am shift. I’m up at that time routinely now anyway. It’s different work than I’ve done in years but I’ve done it before and now is a good season for it. It’s essential. The perks are good, basic. Wholesome. Not well paid, but fairly compensated.

H sent messages after that, cold and hard. He doesn’t acknowledge the email.

He has let me know this is the last message as I am now blocked.

This is the first time he’s ever sent anything like that. I cried for a minute but I’m not sure what for. Mostly the loss of all of him, I guess, and all of us. I had looked at all the messages of the past month, last night before making those other calls. It’s bewildering how different he was just 30 days ago. I find I am upset at being not just deprived of opportunity and “right” or “position” to care for him through this time in his life — but also at the unwelcome and unlikable, unexpected fact that I don’t.

That I can’t, hurts. That I don’t, hurts more.

I wish I had a bottle of wine here even though it’s not yet noon, on a Monday. It just feels like that kind of day.

This morning after moving project supplies, I stared at my room and anew at an old open journal for some reason face down on the unsafe bed. Apparently sometime over the past 72 hours I had thought to look at it, I don’t remember why.

I picked it up, then, this morning, and prayed briefly for the right page to open. And the page that resulted was from sometime in 2019, a haranguing in ink about key figures at midlife, ages ago, and how I could *see* in retrospect that each of them had been through *something*. And how I could *see* that h was echoing and embodying it too, all of it.

What a horrible entry, and yet this morning I was glad I had written it, glad I had not burned it yet, glad it was still there in one of the many books that on the outside all look the same.

I no longer know how far into this process I am or he is or we are. And all I can think to say here, for community benefit or comment, is that as bad as it was earlier on, I think it has got worse. He has got worse. Enough that I have a case number with LE because I don’t like the tone or his approach, or his weird perseverance.

I don’t think he will ever come back here and I also don’t think any court action will cost me. This is one of the aspects I don’t understand. It’s not hard to provide the truth and he seems to have forgotten how much of it I know, and have, and am.

Stupid: I leaned on astrology a long time, because there wasn’t anything else that seemed to make sense otherwise. I authentically believed he would be back here sometime now or in the next few weeks or months. Instead I see there is nothing there.

Paperwork. Maybe a court appearance. I no longer remember how any of this goes.

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Re: Life goes on.
#18: November 30, 2020, 01:21:41 PM
The thing that hurts most, maybe, is the part where I just don’t understand how someone I loved and who seemed normal and even good at one point could turn however long later into someone so deliberately *mean* to me.

I mean I am just a child about this. Part of me is maybe all of six years old and this child part absolutely does not understand. I adore her and I have got her close to me but even as a fully-grown and pretty smart adult, I don’t have any words for her about this. Zero wisdom. I don’t have answers; the only things I’ve got are sorrow, compassion for her, and love.

It’s fine: I’m fine. The inner six-year-old is fine. We’ll all be fine, the inner young and also old of me, and my D. We’re fine. I’m just hurting and just puzzled at how a loved person can turn so decidedly malignant.

That’s hitting the young part of me really hard.

I get that there’s a lot of projection and that he is ?? fighting some adversary he has to have concocted in me. It wasn’t me and it isn’t. I don’t like fighting. I also don’t like moral confusion, and that seems to be the barrel he’s trying to get me over. I also don’t like being abused, and when I know that I am, I stop everything and just station like a rock. Part of that is trauma response, I know. But the rest of it is defiance and stubbornness.

Keep breathing.

It doesn’t feel good to be his target and I don’t want that in my life anymore. Who ever would; it’s insane.

It’s weird how specific the hurt is, and where it hits. He doesn’t know it hits there. I didn’t know, either, until a few minutes ago. And I can’t grasp what it was, the decades ago, because then, it was in a good and safe and loved place; it wasn’t those people who did the harm.

It was mostly about missing my missing father, then, when I was young. And really, really not understanding why he was inconsistent or gone.

Otherwise, I am mostly mad. At how many varied and complicated things I have to do or keep track of or call people about, and how none of it has to do with him, at all, except the part where his grief anger or anger grief has got in the way every day for weeks now. I phoned LE last night but the deputy I needed to speak to wasn’t on until later. And instead of calling again, I fell asleep.

All of it has to be presented to them to build the paper trail and that’s another thing on the list of things that have to be taken care of.

I think someday it would be great to feel taken care of. I get that it will probably be a cold day in hell before I ever even begin to trust anyone to do that again.
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Re: Life goes on.
#19: November 30, 2020, 01:26:43 PM
Oh what I meant to say there,

I was thinking all of that and then checked one of my groups on social media, and there was this:

“Some people are still mad at you because you survived when they threw you under the bus, but the bus ran over their lies.”

Is that why?
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